


Color Collision.

by bluefisted



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: 3Dante, 3Vergil, based on an au i had with a partner, i just cant get behind the idea that vergil, little Nero, so im taking capcoms spine and also their rights, wouldnt look at a son and want to give him the world literally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 08:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefisted/pseuds/bluefisted
Summary: Vergil will do what it takes to ensure that he and Nero have the power they need. That Nero will be safe from the ugliest truth. Dante isn't sure that's necessary.To protect is to sacrifice.





	Color Collision.

**Author's Note:**

> CAPCOM IS A COWARD AND I WANT VERGIL TO SAMURAI CAT LITTLE NERO. also there will definitely be more of this with dante taking care of nero and his devil bringer getting involved

The moon tonight is ominous. 

Her rays drown out the stars in the night sky, bright enough to allow for nearly clear visibility through inhuman eyes. The night’s shadows are drawn and dramatic, nearly cartoonish in its contrast. This high in the air, hundreds of stories below cracked asphalt of a now-silent city, the wind is crisp and cold, cutting cheekbones and noses like razors. The cold, the wind, the silence shattered by demonic screaming; It does not bother he who casts the longest shadow in the night. 

It does not bother Vergil.

It does, however, bother the boy that accompanies him now. 

“It’s so cold up here,” the voice is small. Fragile, almost, for his status. “How come we have to wait so long?” 

“We’re waiting for someone who is less than proficient at problem-solving,” Vergil says, his tone lacking the same humor his words carry, “It will take some time before he arrives.” Maybe the statement isn't factually true, but it may as well be.

There’s a sniffle, and an audible shiver. “Who was it we were waiting for again, Dad?” 

Vergil adjusts his grip on the handle of his blade, and runs his thumb over the engraved kashira. “You may not remember him, as you were quite little the first time you first met,” An infant, really. Well, not _really._ But he was something of an infant to Vergil, either way. “We’re waiting for your uncle Dante, Nero.” 

Nero makes a curious face, brows furrowed and lips pursed. “I think I remember him,” he says, nodding quickly. “He was really nice. He gave me a bunch of Twizzles. Twazzles.” 

"That's _Twizzlers_ , Nero." 

"That's what I said!" The white-haired boy yelps defensively, drawing his jacket in a little tighter and shivering again, but harder this time. Vergil can’t help but sigh through his nose and clench his jaw. It isn’t an exhale holding disappointment or annoyance, so much as it is one holding something akin to concern - Nero is lacking in might, lacking in the ability to defend himself. Things like the cold, scrapes and bruises, wounds and mortal needs - he is at least partially afflicted by all of these things, and it serves to prove his humanity overrides his demonic energy. He will always need to cater to his humanity. Nero will not get to choose. But with intervention, he may be given the hope of doing so. With Vergil's own intervention.

He will need protecting for some years beyond this. Vergil knows better than to assume he will be there for many of those. 

“Do you need my coat?” 

Nero looks up, his eyes wide. He seems to contemplate the question, before looking to his father’s right shoulder and pointing. “It’s too big. And it’s got blood on it.”

Vergil looks down - indeed, there is a large streak of smeared blood. If he were in the mindset to, not stuck contemplating his son’s frail mortality, he might do something like smile. Instead, he only exhales a chuckle through his nose, and swipes at the red stain halfheartedly. 

“So there is.”

**\--**

It feels as though the hours tick by with agonizingly slow speed, but in reality, it isn’t long before the twin drenched in red arrives, steel-toed footsteps falling into puddles as he approaches. Vergil can hear him; He could hear him from some distance away, but refused to turn to face the sound. Nero, out of his peripheral, turns to greet the youngest son of Sparda with childish enthusiasm. His son’s age shows, in that moment, his lack of understanding becoming apparent. He did not know the nature of his father and uncle.

It is likely the circumstance of his understanding will scar him. A scar, though, is better than a mortal wounding from ignorance’s razor-sharp blade.

Dante’s voice comes through the drizzle and the thickening fog, confident and carefree as he’s ever been. He doesn’t bother to greet Vergil - and Vergil didn’t expect him to. Instead, he hears his younger brother’s voice loud and clear addressing his nephew. 

“Hey, little dude! You really sprouted up, huh?” 

Vergil can see Nero move, can hear his excited gasp and his eager greeting, unable to read the tension carried on the wind. It only takes a second for the elder to turn and place a hand against the boy’s chest to prevent him from moving any farther forward.

“No, Nero.” 

Nero looks up, confused. “Hey, I thought--”

“Hush,” Vergil snaps, eyes narrowing as his fingers flex around Yamato’s sheath. “Your uncle and I have… Unfinished business.” 

Nero looks to Dante and back to his father, before taking a wide step back behind the elder twin. Exactly as he was taught to do when danger came sniffing.

Dante scoffs, his expression losing its humored expression. His hand twitches, and Vergil imagines he's internally forbidding himself to draw any kind of weaponry. He's always been something of a sentimental man, never wanting to shed blood when a child could be watching, even if that child will know blood for the rest of his life one way or another. Dante makes a face, brows furrowed and jaw clenched so tight Vergil's sure he can hear his brother's teeth cracking.

“...You’re really not even gonna let him give me a hug before you make me put you into the ground?” Dante grits, minutely adjusting his stance. “I never get to see him, Vergil.” 

“If you want to speak with _my son_ after I take that amulet of yours,” Vergil bites, thumb pushing at the cold tsuba of Yamato’s handle, “Then you’ll need to earn it.” 

**\--**

Time is lost, the closer you get to the Underworld.

That much is evident by how Nero started to drag his feet some distance back. Vergil is edging close to tired, but not quite there - the small boy in his shadow, however, is effectively dead on his feet. Nero is shuffling several feet behind his father, now, and only getting slower.

"Can we stop?" The littler voice asks desperately, stopping to catch breath he lost some time ago. "I don't-- I'm really tired, this is hard, how long do we have to keep going?"

Vergil, now, stops. His eyes shut gently and his head tilts back, and he takes a deep breath in through his nose. Here, now, comes his own exhaustion - the reason he hadn't wanted to stop at all, lest it catch up to him. Still, he turns, and walks to his son still struggling to stay standing. 

Nero is shaking, he's so tired. Vergil nods softly off to the side, letting the boy know that he's finally alright to sit down and take a second to recuperate. Unceremoniously, Nero flops right onto his rear end, hands behind him to keep himself sitting upright. It's a sight that makes Vergil feel far too human - Nero, exhausted, succumbing to his own humanity all too quickly now. Watching him struggle to get air, struggle to even stay awake sitting up brings a pain not unlike a stab wound between the ribs. It stings, deeply. There's a thought that crosses Vergil's mind briefly, the thought that perhaps this was too much for his son - too much for a child so inexperienced in just being alive. 

No, Vergil thinks. Where else could Nero have gone, if not with him? Would it have been kinder to abandon him, to leave him with the mistake he'd made one night, alone and without a father as he himself had once been? Hardly - better now that Nero learn the truth of his bloodline than to learn it later. Better to learn now than to be uprooted most firmly later in life and suffer a great loss. To be a son, a descendant of Sparda, was to suffer unimaginable horrors. Cruel as it may be, it remains the truth of the matter.

Best to suffer those horrors with a protector of some kind. To call himself a protector now, though, is something of a laugh, especially having a hunch that this journey may be nearing its end. 

Vergil kneels beside Nero, humanity in what's left of his heart. This, just the once, he embraces. His hands move to the ribbon tied neatly to Yamato's sheath, deft fingers quickly undoing the complex knot to pull it away from the blade's casing. Wordlessly, Vergil takes his son's right wrist, patting it once as if to tell him to keep it held out. Nero does, confused, until his father begins to wrap the ribbon repeatedly around his wrist, finishing it with yet another complex knot.

"But you said I wasn't supposed to mess with this." The boy says, face twisting with confusion.

"That was a long time ago," Vergil whispers, holding his son's hand in both of his own. He is quiet, his own eyes not yet meeting his son's until he finds the words to speak again. "You must swear something to me, Nero."

A confused look turns to a worried one. "...What, Dad?"

"If something should ever happen to me and you find yourself alone, seek out your uncle. Find Dante, and make sure you mind _everything_ he says." A quiet command, one made while holding eye contact to instill within Nero that he is not just speaking to hear his own voice. This, Vergil means.

"But you said uncle Dante's a dummy and then you fought and--"

" _I_ _know what I said_ ," Vergil states softly, though the intent in his voice is clear as his grip tightens on Nero's wrist minutely. "But listen to what I am saying now, Nero. Listen to these words."

Vergil's eyes close, and he bows his head to press the back of his son's hand to the center of his forehead. There is a lingering silence, and Nero leans forward just a little to put his left hand atop his father's head. If Vergil were a little more human, he might have allowed himself something of a moment to grieve this. To grieve what was and what could have been if things were different, if they had already been blessed with the power they needed. He knows better than any that this may be his last chance to do so. 

"...Dad?"

"Hm?" Vergil hums, lifting his head to look at Nero.

"I love you."

Vergil releases a breath he was unaware he'd been holding. His left hand moves to pet the side of his son's face, small cheeks wet from tears he likely didn't want to admit he'd started to shed. The eldest son swipes his thumb beneath Nero's eyes, searching for something to say in return. He says nothing, at first, the sheer _humanity_ stuck in his throat - to _love_. There is something there for Nero, undoubtedly, something he has never and _will_ never feel again. Something special, something important. Still, the humanity sticks to the back of his throat, and he cannot utter the words he so desperately knew Nero needs to hear; This has always been his downfall. One of many. Even so, he swallows his words thickly, and his grip on Nero becomes firm. Important.

"Our words. Say them."

Nero swallows, and something renews behind wide blue eyes. 

"Fire, blood, bravery."

\--

And so it came to this.

Exhausted. Bloodied. Standing within a crumbling realm face to face with his mirror image. Vergil's brother, his twin.

His friend, once.

The elder twin's eyes flick to his son, his small figure on hands and knees at the demonic river's shoreline, screaming something he can't quite make out over the ringing in his ears. His heels are flush with the cliff's edge, and there is only one exit available to him. It will not be the same exit Dante takes, the one Dante will take with his nephew in his arms. The one he will take to make sure he is finally, finally safe at last. 

For he who once cast the longest shadow, the only way out is down.

Vergil looks back, and speaks. "This layer of the Underworld is collapsing, Dante. You need to leave."

"I'm not leaving without you, you fucking idiot," Dante swears between pants, his grip on Rebellion clearing shaking. "Don't do this, Vergil, not with him here, don't _do--_ " 

The only way to push Dante out in time would be to disappear entirely. Inhaling firmly, keeping his gaze away from Nero, he takes one last look down before letting gravity take him backwards, stomach dropping with the fall.

But he doesn't continue falling.

No, instead when he looks back, Dante is braced at the cliff ledge with one hand firmly grasping his wrist. Vergil cocks a brow from his position - his other hand holding Yamato's blade flexes around the handle, tightening his grip. Dante is frantic, desperately talking and saying things Vergil just cannot manage to hone into. Instead, he chooses to interrupt his younger brother.

"Swear to me you'll care for him. Feed him, keep him healthy," The words are final. "Swear you'll die for him should it be required of you."

"Vergil that's _your_ job and you'll make it if you just _fucking_ come with us, I--"

"Swear."

"...I swear."

Vergil's arm twitches, and in an instant Yamato's blade slices cleanly through Dante's cheek, nearly across half of his face. His wrist is released as his younger twin flinches backward, and Vergil can feel gravity take hold of his innards once more. He thinks of Nero, of Dante, and tries not to think of what will be waiting below him. 

The black has a way of absorbing the silence. 

**\--**

They say devils are never supposed to cry.

Who 'they' are, Dante doesn't know. Maybe 'they' are just one person who took a back dive off a cliff into Hell. Maybe 'they' are a bunch of baddies in the deepest pits, giggling at him and his old man both.

Maybe 'they' are full of shit.

Dante's sure it's raining, now. Not that he can feel it on his arms or his shoulders, now bare as his coat was currently occupied by his nephew. Nero's out like a light - Unsurprising, considering he just spent God knows how long wailing his lungs out, and even _longer_ being dragged through a demon tower full of fucked up puzzles. Still, the point is, the rain's coming down good, now. Dante can't feel it on his shoulders, his arms, or his torso, but he can feel it on his face. Right under his eyes, raindrops coming straight down his face to fall off his nose, and off of his chin.

They say devils are never supposed to cry. Dante says 'they' have never seen the shit he has. Dante says 'they' haven't been left with a kid that's gonna freak when he wakes up.

The walk back to the shop… Would be a long one.

**Author's Note:**

> follow your boy @BIuefisted on twitter


End file.
